


Dinner for One, Table for Two

by levele3



Series: Bon Appétit! [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Eating, First Meetings, Fluff, Food, Gen, Prompt Fill, johnlock if you squint, meal swap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-28
Updated: 2017-01-28
Packaged: 2018-09-20 11:40:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9489581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/levele3/pseuds/levele3
Summary: Dr. John H Watson, recently returned home to England from military service in Afghanistan just wants to eat the meal he ordered in peace.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Woah! Going back to my roots with this one, it's been ages since I've written for Sherlock!  
> Based on a prompt I saved years ago, wish I had saved the source...  
> "The restaurant messed up our meals and we are sitting at tables next to each other. It wouldn’t hurt to swap- oh you already ate some of mine? That’s ok, want to share? "  
> Bon Appétit!

The waiter placed the plate of food in front of John with a rushed apology, “so sorry about the delay sir, your bill will reflect this error.” 

Well, that was some compensation at least. John didn’t even get to say thank you and the woman was gone in a blink. The restaurant was a nice, quiet place, _Angelo’s_ over on Northumberland Street. John had missed the lunchtime rush hour but his meal had still arrived later than it should of. John turned toward his plate and faltered.   

It looked amazing, there were large well-cooked shrimps, bits of spinach, diced tomatoes, tender looking fettuccini noodles, and red-pepper flakes all covered in in a rich creamy sauce. It smelled heavenly as well, garlic and parmesan. There was one, glaringly obvious problem with the meal, John Watson hadn’t ordered Shrimp Fettuccini. 

He huffed out a sigh, for once, just _once_ , he’d like to order a meal without it coming late, or being undercooked, or worst of all the wrong thing entirely. The last time John had been served something he hadn’t ordered had been on a date. Needless to say the date had been a disaster.

John glanced around the hole-in-the-wall restaurant wondering who could have gotten his dish. Where was his spinach and mushroom ravioli?  There were honestly not that many other people in _Angelo’s_ at this time of day. It was the lull period, too late for lunch, too early for supper. A couple sat in the corner booth by the big front window, they had moved on to dessert. They took turns spoon feeding one another bites of chocolate cake with vanilla ice cream. It was kind of disgusting actually. John found himself looking away from the intimate display rather quickly. 

Next his eyes landed on the lone occupant of a centrally located table. The man was thoroughly engrossed in a book, and seemed to be eating off his plate on auto pilot.  Fork to dish, fork to mouth, turn a page, repeat. Again John almost looked away when _what_ the other man was eating caught his attention. It was John’s ravioli! John looked down at the cooling dish in front of him. He could eat the perfectly divine looking shrimp fettuccini or in typical Watson fashion he could march over there and give the guy eating _his_ order a lecture about eating a meal you hadn’t ordered.

With a huff John griped his cane and slowly raised himself up to a standing position, his left hand gave a slight shake as he reached for his plate. With minor difficulty John limped over to the table occupied by the man eating John’s ravioli. As John closed in on his target he lost some of his nerve. He should just hobble back to the other table, eat the pasta in silence, pay the bill and leave quietly. What was he really going to accomplish making a scene, over cooked noodles no less. 

The man didn’t seem to notice John’s approach. He continued to read his book as though the rest of the world didn’t exist. He had slowed down in his consumption of the ravioli and John estimated about half of the dish remained. John stood awkwardly beside the man’s table waiting to be noticed.

“Er…” John began, then cleared his throat and tried again, “I, it seems you have, er, that is the restaurant made… umm.”

“Afghanistan of Iraq?” the man asked, without looking up from his page.

“What?” John asked, dumfounded.

With a huff of annoyance the man closed his book, and setting it on the table turned to look at John for the first time, “Afghanistan or Iraq? Which was it?”

Two piercing grey-blue eyes look into John’s soul and he’s forgotten what he’s doing here.

“Af- Afghanistan,” he stutters, unable to believe it. 

John slumps into the chair opposite the stranger, the forgotten plate of fettuccini hitting the table with a dull thud. 

“Sorry, how-?” John starts to ask, and the man is already miles ahead of him.

“I didn't _know_ , I saw.” The man launches into an unbelievable explanation, he sites John’s haircut and the way he stands as keys to his military history. His still visible tan from being stationed overseas and his limp mark him as wounded in action.

Once the stranger spills it all out John isn’t sure how everyone can’t see it when they look at him. 

“That was, amazing” John says at long last.

“Was it?” the stranger asks, as if he is suddenly unsure of himself.

John smirks, unable to help himself, “of course it was. It was _extraordinary_. It was quite... extraordinary.”

It’s the only word he seems able to come up with.

The stranger looks downcast for a moment and John think’s maybe he isn’t used to such open praise. 

“That’s not what people normally say” he admits at last, meeting John’s gaze.

“What do they normally say?” John is curious.

The Stranger’s lips quirk into an amused but still closed off smile, “Piss off.”   

John laughs out loud at the outburst and the man’s tentative smile breaks out into a full on grin. The two men laugh together and when they finally stop John extends his hand.

“John Watson” he says, introducing himself.

“Sherlock Holmes” the man replies, accepting John’s hand.

A large man with long greying hair, tied back in a ponytail approaches there table a long handled lighter in hand.

“Sherlock” he says admonishingly, “you didn’t tell me you were expecting company.”

The large man gives Sherlock a wink.

“Angelo, this is John Watson” Sherlock introduces.

“Got me off a murder charge, he did” Angelo supplies to John as he reaches across the table to pick up a candle.

“Sorry, what is it you do?” John asks Sherlock, but the man has gone into a short explanation of exactly how he got Angelo off the murder charge.   

“So sorry your usual table wasn’t available” Angelo says, nodding his head towards the booth by the window, “special night for those two.”

Sherlock gives the couple a cursory glance.

“Ah yes, first date, he’s nervous, but she’s confident things have gone well. They are both smitten.” Sherlock’s analysis is short and to the point.  

John wonders what his identifying cues were.

Angelo replaces the now lit candle with a hushed, “makes it more romantic” and a wink at John this time. 

“On the house, as always Sherlock, for you and your date” Angelo says loudly, clapping Sherlock firmly on the shoulder before departing.  

“What, _hang on_ , I’m not his date” John’s protests fall on deaf ears.  

“Sorry,” says Sherlock suddenly, “but why _was_ it you came over to my table?”

That’s when it hits him, the man who can read John’s military career within seconds has no idea he was even served the wrong meal.

“Our dinner’s got mixed up” John explains, pointing between the two plates.

“Oh” Sherlock looks crestfallen, and John thinks the man might even be blushing.

“Oh” he says again the look of absolute horror that comes across his face startles John, “I should get Angelo to remake your food. I don’t usually eat but I was so hungry today and-”

This time it is John who cuts of Sherlock, “its fine! Sherlock, it’s fine, it’s all fine.”          

It takes a moment but Sherlock seems to cool down from his rising panic. 

“You- ah” Sherlock gestures lamely to the now very cold plate of fettuccini in front of John, “you must be hungry, you haven’t eaten a bite.”

“Starving” John replies.


End file.
